The Mysterious Three

by William Le Queux

atMonte, at Ostend, and here in England at Hurlingham at the Gun Club,also at Hendon, but it has always struck me as being a cold-blooded formof amusement--its warmest supporters can hardly call it sport. Not thatthere is more cruelty connected with pigeon-shooting than withgame-shooting, as some would have us believe. Indeed, I have alwayscontended that trap-shooting is less cruel than game-shooting, forpigeon-shooters are one and all first-rate shots--if they were not theywould lose heavily and soon give up the game--with the result that thegreater proportion of the birds shot at are killed outright, a thingthat cannot be said of game, where one's tailor sometimes takes out alicence.

  But why is it, I wonder, that pigeon-shooters, considered collectively,are such dreadful-looking men? I have often wondered, and I am by nomeans the only man who has noticed this feature of pigeon-shooters.Glancing carelessly at the crowd seated near me now, it struck meforcibly that I had rarely set eyes on such a dissipated-looking set.Men of middle age, most of them, obese, fat-faced, with puffy eyes andsagging skin, they looked capable of any villainy, and might well havebeen addicted to every known vice.

  One man in particular arrested my attention. His age was difficult toplace. Lying, rather than sitting, back in a softly-padded leatherchair, with crossed legs, and with one arm hanging loosely over the armof the chair, he talked in a singularly ugly voice between his yellowteeth, which clenched a long cigar stuck in the corner of his mouth.

  "Another twist, and he would have cleared the boundary," he was sayingto his companion, a good-looking English lad of five-or-six-and-twenty."The second barrel cut him to pieces; it's extraordinary what a lot ofshot a blue-rock can carry away. How did you come out on the day?"

  "Badly--shocking," answered the young man. "I backed the guns to startwith, and you know how badly the whole lot of you shot. Then I startedbacking the bird, and you began to kill every time. My luck was outto-day--dead out."

  I saw his friend smile.

  "Dago was the one lucky man this afternoon, I should say," the firstspeaker remarked presently. "But there--he's always lucky."

  Instantly my interest was aroused. "Dago!" Could it be--surely--?

  "Yes, he's lucky enough," the other answered. Then, after a pause headded: "That's a man I can't stand."

  "Can't stand? Why?"

  "Oh, I don't know. The fellow gets on my nerves. How does he live?Have you any idea?"

  "You mean, what is his source of income? I'm sure I can't tell you.But for that matter, how do half the men we meet here at Monte manage tolive? It would not be well to ask. They have money, and that is themain thing. All we require is to transfer to our own pockets as much ofit as we can."

  The young man looked at him thoughtfully for some moments, then said--

  "Yes, I suppose so."

  The tone in which he spoke was ironical, but his companion didn't noticeit.

  "Do you know Paulton well?" the elder man asked himself.

  "As well as I care to. Why do you ask?"

  "Only just out of curiosity. Many people form an unfavourableimpression of him when they meet him first, and afterwards they come tolike him."

  "That's the reverse of my case," answered the young man quickly. "Thefirst time I met him I rather liked him, I remember. But after I hadmet him several times--well, I changed about him. He may be all right!I dare say he is. I suppose our personalities are not akin, as I haveheard some one put it."

  "He's a fine shot."

  "You are right. He is. I thought he would win the cup to-day."

  "The bird that knocked him out was badly hit. If he had killed it, hewould have won second money."

  The young Englishman lay back, stretched himself, and yawned. "I'mgetting fed up with this place," he said at last. "I shall get back toEngland in a day or two. How long shall you remain here?"

  "It depends--partly on Dago. We're running a sort of syndicatetogether, you know--or probably you don't know. He has to see one ortwo men here about it before we leave."

  "What sort of syndicate?"

  "I am afraid I'm not at liberty to tell you--yet. I can tell you this--though, we have a lady interested in it, a very pretty girl. That oughtto appeal to you," and he laughed.

  "Have I seen her?" the young man asked, looking at him curiously.

  His companion pondered. Then suddenly he exclaimed--

  "Why, yes--of course you have. She was playing trente-et-quarante theother night, and nothing could stop her winning. She won a maximum andwent on and on, simply raking in the money. You and I were theretogether. I am sure you must remember."

  "_That_ girl!"

  The tone in which he uttered these words surprised me. Could it be Veraof whom they had been speaking? According to Lord Logan she had wonheavily at trente-et-quarante. And if so, who was this man, thispartner and friend of Dago Paulton's? And what could the secretsyndicate be in which both were interested?

  I had my back to the door, and the middle-aged man who spoke between histeeth and was lying back in the lounge chair was almost facing me.Suddenly, a look of recognition came into his eyes--he had seen some onebehind me enter, whom he knew.

  "Ah, here is good old Dago," he exclaimed. He held up his hand andsignalled to him.

  I had fitted a cigarette into my holder, struck a match, and lit upslowly, while I composed my thoughts. Now I half-turned to gaze uponthis man of whom I had heard so much, and was now to see for the firsttime.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN.

  IN THE WEB.

  I held my breath.

  I should have recognised him at once from the panel portrait, though helooked some years older than when that photograph had been taken.

  Of medium height, and rather broadly built, he had all the appearance ofa gentleman. His hair was very short, with dark grey, rather deep-seteyes, and thick dark eyebrows. The hair was parted in the middle, andplastered down, but he was not in evening clothes, as were the men towhose conversation I had been listening.

  He shook hands cordially with his friend, nodded to the good-lookingyoung man, and called to the waiter to bring him a chair, those near bybeing all occupied. While waiting for the chair to be brought, hesuddenly caught sight of me, evidently in recognition, for he turnedquickly and spoke in a low tone to his friend, who at once glanced in mydirection.

  All this! "felt" rather than saw, for I was not looking directly at thetwo men.

  Where had Paulton seen me before? That was the first thought thatoccurred to me, and of course I could not answer it. I had norecollection of having ever seen him previously. Suddenly, he crossedover to me.

  "Mr. Richard Ashton, I think?" he said in a genial tone, and with asmile.

  "Yes," I answered rather stiffly, none too pleased at his addressing me.I certainly had no wish to know him.

  "My name's Paulton," he said, ignoring my coldness. "I've seen youbefore. You were pointed out to me one night at the Savoy. I want tointroduce my friend. Henderson, let me present you to Mr. RichardAshton. Mr. Ashton--Mr. Henderson."

  It was done before I could say anything--before I could avoid it. Therewas nothing for it, therefore, but to pretend to appear pleased.

  He asked me what I would drink, and I had to say something--though Ihated drinking with the fellow. Put yourself in my place--drinking witha man who had tried in cold blood to kill me, and who had shot aninnocent man dead! I felt it had been weak of me not to ignore hisgreeting and meet his look of recognition with a stony stare. Butregret for a mistake was useless now. I had made a false step when Ispoke to him, and I couldn't suddenly, apparently for no reason, turn myback upon him.

  A sudden terrific gust of wind shook the heavy windows, and a sheet ofrain splashed against the panes like a great wave, distracting, for themoment, every one's attention. A storm on the Riviera is always heavyand blustering.

  "I have just come in," Paulton said. "In all my life I don't recollectsuch an awful storm as this, except once in the Jura, when I was outboar-shoot
ing. How fortunate it didn't start while the pigeon-shootingwas on to-day."

  He turned to me suddenly.

  "By the way, Ashton," he said familiarly, "we have a mutual friend, Ithink."

  "Indeed?" I answered drily. "Who is that?"

  "Sir Charles Thorold's daughter, Miss Vera."

  I was astonished at this effrontery--so astounded that my surpriseoutweighed my feeling of indignation at the tone of familiarity in whichhe spoke of Vera. He might have been referring to some barmaid we bothknew.

  I think he detected my annoyance, but he said nothing. After a pause Ireplied, keeping myself in check--

  "Is Miss Thorold a friend of yours?"

  "A friend of mine? Rather. I should say so!"

  He glanced across at Henderson, and they both smiled significantly.This was intolerable.

  "I do know Miss Thorold," I remarked, emphasising the "Miss Thorold,""but I don't remember that she has ever mentioned your name to me."

  "No, probably she wouldn't mention it. Vera is discreet, if she isnothing else."

  The impertinence of this reply was so obvious, so pointed, that I knewit must have been intentional.

  "Really, I don't follow you," I said icily. "What, pray, has MissThorold to say to you, and what have you to say to her?"

  "Oh, a very great deal, I can assure you."

  "Indeed? How intensely interesting!"

  "It is, very. Her flight from Houghton that night must have astonishedyou."

  I could bear the fellow's company no longer. Emptying my tumbler, Irose with deliberation, and, excusing myself with frigid politeness,strode out of the fumoir.

  In the vestibule I met the good-looking young Englishman. He had leftthe room soon after Paulton had entered. Now he came up and spoke tome.

  "I hope you'll forgive my addressing you," he said in well-bred accents,raising his hat, "but I heard your name mentioned when Paultonintroduced Henderson to you. May I ask if you are _the_ Mr. RichardAshton?"

  "It depends what you mean by `the' Richard Ashton," I answered. Thisyoung man attracted me; he had done so from the first.

  "Do you happen to live in King Street, St. James's?" he inquiredabruptly.

  "Yes, I do."

  "Then you're the man I have for weeks past been wanting to meet. Ibelieve you know Miss Thorold--Miss Vera Thorold."

  "I do."

  "She wants particularly to see you."

  "How do you know that?"

  "Because she told me, or rather a friend of hers--to whom I am engagedto be married--did. They are together at the _Alexandra Hotel_, inMentone. My friend is staying there with an aunt of mine."

  "Surely if Miss Thorold wished to meet me she could have written to me,or telegraphed," I said rather frigidly.

  "No. I think I ought to tell you that the man who introduced himself toyou some minutes ago--the man Dago Paulton--has entire control overher--she goes in fear of him! She did not dare write to you, or evensend you a wire. She knew that if she did he would find out. The ladyto whom I am engaged told me this some days ago, and told me a greatdeal about you that had been told to her by Miss Thorold."

  "Do you mind telling me your name?" I said, looking at him squarely.

  "Faulkner--Frank Faulkner. Paulton is a man of whom you ought to bevery careful. He is really a scoundrel, that I don't mind telling you.I have just been told by a man who really knows, that he has forced MissThorold to take an active interest in a rascally scheme of some kindthat he and Henderson have devised. I am told by my lady friend--hername is Gladys Deroxe--that Miss Thorold tried her utmost to havenothing to do with it, but Paulton threatened to reveal something heknows concerning her father, so in the end she consented. Paulton hasno longer a card for the Rooms; he was shut out last year for somereason, and he has lately been compelling Miss Thorold to go and playthere in his place. Her luck at trente-et-quarante has been phenomenal,but all the money she has won he has of course at once taken from her,she is his factotum. I am very glad for her sake that you have comeout. I suppose it was by accident you came? You didn't expect to findher here--eh?"

  "On the contrary," I said, "I chanced to hear only last Sunday that MissThorold was staying on the Riviera--so I decided to come over at once,"I said.

  "She knows that you are here, you know."

  "She knows? Why, who on earth can have told her?"

  "I have just been telephoning to Miss Deroxe over at the _Bristol_ atBeaulieu. Miss Thorold is there with her. I told them that a man namedAshton was here, and I described your appearance. Miss Thorold said atonce it must be you. Unfortunately she leaves to-night for Paris, andMiss Deroxe goes with her."

  "But why is she going to Paris?" I exclaimed eagerly.

  "Who? Miss Thorold? She's acting on Paulton's orders. Her visit hassome mysterious bearing upon the scheme I have just spoken about."

  The door of the fumoir opened at that moment, and Paulton and Hendersoncame out into the vestibule. At once they must have seen Faulkner andmyself conversing, and for an instant a look of anger flashed intoPaulton's eyes. The expression subsided quickly, and he and Hendersonapproached smiling calmly.

  "I'm prepared to bet that I know what you two were talking about,"Paulton said lightly, addressing Faulkner. "You were talking of Vera.Ah! Am I wrong? No, I see I'm not. You have told our friend Ashtonthat she goes to Paris to-night. Well, you are mistaken. Informationhas reached me that there has been a landslip on the line beyondBeaulieu, and it is blocked in consequence."

  Then he turned to me.

  "Would you like to come over to Beaulieu, Ashton?" he said, as thoughmaking some quite ordinary request. "My car will be here presently. Ican take you too, Faulkner, if you wish to see Miss Deroxe. I am goingstraight to the _Bristol_."

  I was about to refuse, when Faulkner spoke.

  "I should like to go, and Mr. Ashton will of course come."

  "Good. My car should be here in a quarter of an hour."

  He strolled over to the bureau, and I heard him inquire for letters.There were several. He took them from the gold-laced porter, sank on toa settee, and began to tear them open.

  "Why did you accept his offer?" I inquired of Faulkner, in anundertone, as I lit a cigarette.

  "Never mind," he answered quickly. "I know what I'm doing. Leaveeverything to me now." At that moment the large glazed double doorsleading into the Place in front of the Casino revolved slowly and atall, imposing-looking woman of thirty-five or so, in rich black furs,which had all the appearance of being valuable, sailed in, followed byher maid carrying a small bag. Paulton, glancing up from his letters,noticed her, and at once sprang to his feet.

  "Ah, Baronne, how pleasant to meet you again!" he exclaimed, as heapproached her. "I expected you here sooner."

  "I should have been here an hour ago," she exclaimed, "but the train wasdelayed. This storm is awful!"

  She had a rich, deep contralto voice, one of those speaking voices thatat once arouse interest and curiosity. It aroused interest now, for theguests seated in the hall simultaneously interrupted their conversationin order to look at the new arrival, so striking was her appearance.

  "I went to the station quite a while ago," Paulton said. "They told methe train could not arrive."

  "It has not arrived yet, I believe," she answered. "I got off at awayside station, drove the two miles into Beaulieu, and then hired thecar which has just brought me on here."

  She was indeed a handsome woman, obviously a woman of singularpersonality. Exceedingly dark, with great coils of blue-black hair thather travelling-veil only partly concealed, she was very handsome still.When I had watched her for nearly a minute, wondering whom she might be,my gaze unconsciously drifted to the quietly-dressed maid who stoodrespectfully and demurely a few feet behind her mistress, bearing alarge leather dressing-case in her hand. Her appearance somehow seemedfamiliar. Suddenly she turned her face rather more towards me, and Irecognised her at once.


  It was Judith, the French girl who had been Lady Thorold's maid. Herbeady little black eyes rested on me for an instant, then were quietlylowered. But instinctively I knew that in that single, swift glance shehad recognised me--and I certainly held her in suspicion.

  "The rooms have been retained for you Baronne," I heard Paulton say,"the rooms you had last year. Shall I order supper?"

  "Certainly. Please do," the deep voice answered. "Tell Gustave to sendit to my rooms in a quarter of an hour. Ma foi! I am famished."

  For the first time I noticed that she spoke with a foreign accent. Butit was not very marked.

  "Then I shall see you later," Paulton said, as the new arrival movedtowards the lift. "_A tantot_, Baronne."

  "_A bientot_."

  Paulton bent over her hand, and when the doors of the lift had shut hecame across to us.

  "You'd better get into your coats," he said. "My car is just cominground!"

  "Who is the lady?" Faulkner asked carelessly.

  "Who?" Paulton exclaimed. "You don't mean to say you don't knowBaronne de Coudron? I thought everybody in Monte knew the Baronne--bysight. She's one of my best friends."

  As the big grey Rolls-Royce sped through the darkness, the storm